Shine Bright
by Porcelain Destiny
Summary: Star, unsure of her future finds salvation at the school. But will her saviors lead her to her doom? Please R&R, I really need your opinions!
1. Chapter 1

Ok, you know the deal. I don't know the X-Men but I do own Star and Brock. Enjoy!

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"Don't let anyone change who you are, Star. Shine your brightest or not at all," she whispered. I sat up with a gasp. It was just a dream. I looked around my dismal room with a sigh. It was just a really, scary dream. My mother was the last person to ever say that to me. And she was dead. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and held my face in my hands. What was wrong with me? She died when I was eight but the dreams were becoming more and more frequent. She had cancer and it was supposedly more than the doctors could handle. But I always thought she could've survived. She was so strong. I felt tears rising and quickly swallowed them by standing up. I grabbed my huge black hoodie and slipped it on. I yanked my hair back into a hat and threw the big hood over it. It wasn't that cold outside but I felt more invisible this way. More than usual, anyway.

"Where're you going?" my father asked, looking away from the late-night sitcoms flashing across his face. I stared at the skew of empty beer bottles scattered around him and the couch.

"Wherever I go," I mumbled, grabbing my bookbag off the kitchen table. He sat up, causing the bottles to roll and click together, making a strange, almost angelic sound.

"That's not an answer young lady. If your mother were here, I'd—"

"You'd what, old man?" I asked, dropping my grip on the doorknob and turning to face him. He sat up more, gripping the couch for support and stared at me. "You'd punish me? You'd help me out? You'd actually be a father?" I asked, my voice growing louder with each sentence. He grumbled something indiscernible and plopped back down on the couch. He pressed another brown bottle to his lips and sighed, returning his bloodshot gaze to the tube. I scoffed and walked out, slamming the door behind me.

"If Mom were here, I wouldn't have to fend for myself," I whispered, jogging down the creaky steps of our apartment building. "If Mom were here, we'd live on the Upper East Side and we'd eat at cafes and shop in Macy's on her lunch breaks. We'd never have to worry about rent or the water cutting off or any of that. We'd _live,_" I told myself. I nodded at the landlord who was watching the same sitcom as my father. He nodded back, not really seeming to notice my presence. I rolled my eyes and pushed my way out into the cold New York streets. Car sirens and people's incoherent shouts filled my ears as I yanked my hat down tighter and braced myself against the cold. I quickly lost the feeling in my legs and after two blocks, my face. Taxis drove by, destinations unknown. Where would I go if I rode in one? Probably to a new life, with a loving mother and father and a decent size home with a warm bed.

"Keep your head up, Star. Only the moon can outshine you," I told myself, quoting my mother. She'd always known I was going to be Star. She wanted to inspire me with her words. I shook the thoughts from my head. This wasn't the time nor the place. Two prostitutes, one with oddly hairy legs, and the other with two cigarettes in her mouth, passed me, carefully eyeing the competition. I shook my head and continued on, inwardly smiling. Only in NYC. Where was I going? My feet were leading me somewhere, allowing my head to wander off and think on what it wanted. I was headed towards my boyfriend, Brock's. His mother was so cheery and happy all the time, I felt safe there. I was already at his building, on auto-pilot, slowly climbing the flights of stairs to the top.

"Hey," he whispered sleepily. He looked at me bleary-eyed, obviously disoriented.

"Wake up stupid," I laughed. I smacked him gently on the cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked, holding his cheek in mock pain. He opened the door, giving me room to enter underneath his arm. I walked into the warm apartment, very happy to be there. It was warm and my face was beginning to warm up too. I dropped my bag on the floor and dropped onto the couch, fatigue rushing through my veins and settling in my joints. He yawned and pulled my arm.

"What?" I whined. He pulled me into his bedroom and lightly pushed me onto his bed. I fell and didn't fight him as he pulled my shoes off and helped me shrug out of my jacket. I flopped into his unoccupied bed and let him tuck me in. His bed was hot with body heat and I could see the indent of his head on his pillow. He clawed underneath the covers with me and wrapped his thick arm around me. We fell asleep, me settling into him and feeling warm for the first time that night.

-So what do you think? This is actually my fourth story posted on here but no one seems interested in my other ones. Just let me know if you think I should continue! Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

"Star, so nice to see you. Were you here all night?" Brock's mother smiled, placing a huge plate of pancakes onto the table. Brock grabbed two and a couple pieces of bacon and made a sandwich. I laughed and did the same. We toasted and bit in at the same time. His mother clucked her tongue and smiled at him. "Are you going to work today?"

"Yea, I've gotta deliver up on the East Side. You comin' Star?" he asked, cramming another piece of bacon into his mouth. He was a delivery boy for some mail service exclusively for the rich ones on the East Side. I shook my head and swallowed. I loved the East Side, I really did. The glamour and flash of the East Side reminded me so much of my mom, but I wasn't really in the mood. There was just something wrong. "Are you alright?" he asked. I shook out of my stupor. His mom had left the room.

"Yea, I'm fine. I just need to…relax," I mumbled. I looked away. He gently pulled my face towards his and kissed my lips. His mouth was so soft and welcoming. I wanted to kiss him again and freeze the moment for all eternity. But I couldn't because he pulled away and gazed at me.

"You know how I feel about that," he whispered, kissing me again. I knew he didn't like it, I didn't even like it. But there was no changing old habits. "You do what you need to do, ok? But meet me up there on 75th by two. Is that enough time?" he asked, dropping his gentle grip on my face. He glanced at the clock. It was almost ten. I nodded, wiping the tears from my eyes and yanking my hood up over my head. "Love you, Star," he said. He stood and kissed my cheek again. He waved goodbye to his mother and blew me another kiss from the door. I smiled and pretended to catch it. He left, putting his headphones in his ears on his way out. He didn't want to hear me leave. I stood and silently left his house.

He wanted me on the East Side by two, and it was ten. That gave me three hours to do what I had to and an hour to find a way up there. I was broke and could barely afford what I used. That's why I stole. I had this gift. I couldn't explain it but ever since my mom died, I was able to do what I wanted when I wanted, just like her. If I wanted some heroin, all I had to do was focus, concentrate, and it would be in front of me, then in my arm, then coursing through my veins, making life exciting and vibrant again. I pulled my hood tighter around my head and settled into a quick stride, practically running past the businesses and buildings to get to the warehouses and projects. I needed some with each step and with each step I wanted to turn around and cuddle Brock again.

"Hey, Star, what's hanging? I haven't seen you in weeks! How do you do it?" someone said suddenly. I jumped and turned to see Zach standing in a shadowed alley. Zach was one of my best friends on that side of life. He stepped out into the sunlight and patted me on the back.

"I—I don't know. What's going on? You—you got any?" I whispered. I felt my body retaliating against me. The moment he said weeks, my body jumped and everything seemed to fail. I was withdrawing and I needed some quick.

"Yea, it's right here. Star, what's going on? I mean, weeks? You haven't been in the house have you?" he asked. He took a step back, knowing full well I could be wired or bugged. I shook my head, my hood falling to my shoulders and my hair tumbling down. It whipped across my face in the wind.

"No—no, just—something's happ—happening, you know? I—I think I'm—losing control," I whispered.

"Losing control over that—thing we talked about?" he asked, leaning in and whispering really close. I could smell the cigarettes he'd probably been smoking earlier. I nodded. "Let me see," he whispered. I pulled my sleeves up. I focused and slowly but surely a syringe filled with the poison I drank so willingly slipped from Zach's jacket. A tourniquet followed and wrapped itself around my arm. I shuddered as the cold needle slid into my bicep. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, as the heroin rushed through my veins at a million miles an hour.

"I—I t—t—told you," I stuttered. My voice gained more strength as the drugs set in. "It's horrible, I know but what should I do? I can't keep living like this! But I check myself in and I'm a lab rat!" I shouted. Zach pressed his finger to his lip.

"Shut up! God are you trying to get yourself killed?" He pulled me by the crook of my elbow deeper into the alley.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Have you told Brock?" he asked, a hint of jealously seeping into his voice. He'd always liked me but I could never date him. I needed someone from the other side, the cleaner life.

"No! I can't! I don't know, he already doesn't like talkin' about _this," _I gestured towards the alley. "There's no way I could bring him into this either."

"Well, I've got a couple of guys you could probably talk to. What time is it? I assume Brock wants you back by a certain time?" Zach asked. Uh-oh. I sighed and glanced at my watch.

"Shit, I'm supposed to be back by two!"

"Calm down, it's only eleven. Come talk to my friend for a few minutes then we'll get you right home," he said with a flash of his beautiful smile. I shuddered. Physically, I wanted him. But Brock was something he could never be. I shook the thoughts away and followed him down the alley. "Yo! John! Get over here! I got somebody you should meet!" he shouted. We stumbled into a courtyard, probably abandoned. Several people were milling around, not exactly milling with a purpose. Zach pulled me along and stopped in front of the boy sitting alone in the farthest corner of the yard. He was lighting and extinguishing the flame on his cigarette without a lighter.

"She's the one?" he asked without looking up. He stood slowly and eyed me carefully. I looked down at the flame and then back at him. Zach had already told him about me.

"Yea, I am, actually," I snapped. I focused on the cigarette and pulled it out of his hand. I placed it in mine and suddenly, it burst into flames. That wasn't something I knew how to do. That was his power. Had he done it? I glanced casually at his hands. They hung lifeless at his sides. No, I had done it.

"Do it again. But with his," the boy ordered. I followed his finger to the rather butch-looking kid pacing nervously. He was twitching and muttering to himself. I knew his cigarette was filled with something other than tobacco. I focused and mentally pulled it from his mouth. He shouted nervously and reached out for it but I concentrated harder and watched it slowly burn down at both ends. He dropped to his knees and desperately snatched at the ashes. "Now him."

"No, I'm not here to blow their money. Can you fix me or not?" I snapped.

"No, I can't. But I know someone who can give you enough power to blow this place out of the water. You've got talent, a gift. Why not use it?" John questioned. He stepped closer to me. There was heat pulsing from him. I could feel the sweat glands in my upper lip and forehead begin to work.

"Because using it labels me more than I already am," I answered with less force. He cocked a smile at me.

"Ok, ok. I bet you live with your mommy and daddy on the Upper East Side and you've got a perfect little boyfriend who would die for you. You've been keeping this," he held out his arms to gesture to the alleyway, "for a secret so long, adding your gift up would be too much pressure for your straight A head to handle," he smirked. I slapped him, tears brewing behind my lashes.

"No one ever speaks of my mother like that," I whispered, my voice deepening and overlapping with several different sounds. It was almost animalistic. The whole courtyard was listening to the exchange now. I could see Zach out of the corner of my eye, a petrified look on his face. I had probably just gotten myself into more stuff than I could handle but it was worth it. No one spoke about Mom like that. John growled and lunged at me, his hands blazing with white-hot flames. I shielded my face from him. Suddenly, he flipped back and landed twenty feet away. He moaned and coughed. The wind had been knocked clean from his lungs. I staggered backwards from the strain. I had done that purely on instinct. It wasn't the drugs, it was me. I really did have this gift he was talking about. I was something different, something else, something that wasn't…._human. _


	3. Chapter 3

-Oh. My. Gosh. This story practically died...but now it's being reincarnated! Thanks so much to those fans who have been waiting and I'm soooo sorry for making you wait this long! In the meantime, check out my profile to see what I've been doing. Hopefully, this chapter and the next few (I might post in the next few days! Fingers crossed!) will make up for the long hiatus!

John stared at me, stunned by my bold actions. I took a few steps back as his fury stretched across his face and the flame from the lighter to his hand. A ball of flames licked at his flesh and I knew he was going to try and toss it at me. I could almost feel the heat from it in my own hand and in a flash, it was there, hovering just above my fingers. I didn't understand why I wasn't burning, but I knew it had something to do with my _problem. _He glared at me even harder and I shook the fire ball from my hand and turned to run down the aisle. I could barely breathe. I had to get to 74th street by two. That gave me time to shower and change out of my wrinkled clothes. I sprinted through the stand-still traffic, tears brimming my eyes. If my mother were here, she would know exactly what to say. I wouldn't have to do this on my own.

My thoughts would've hurt Brock. He tried his hardest to support me and make me feel loved. I let the tears slide as I jumped up the stairs of the fire escape and cracked up the broken window that dropped into my bedroom. I grabbed another backpack and stuffed more clothes into it. I snatched the only picture I had of my mother and shoved it into the bag too, carefully tucked between sweatshirts. I ripped off the sweatshirt I had and tiptoed into the pathetic excuse for a bathroom. I cranked on the hot water and stripped. I yanked the curtain shut and let my muscles go lucid. I was exhausted from the meeting, which was replaying again and again in my head.

Why had Zach told John about me without knowing? That was an understood code among us. You don't talk about anyone, no matter who they are or what they did. It's risky, especially if people are bouncing in and out of lock-up. But John was like me. Why was that? What made our bodies different so that they could withstand heat and support balls of hungry flames in our palms? What made me able to pull the syringe from Zach's pocket? I wiped away my tears and clenched my jaw. No, I wasn't going to be upset. I knew I had to tell Brock. He'd help me out. I soaped up, then grabbed the shampoo. Once I'd finished cleaning myself, I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.

"What do you think you're doing?" my father burst through the locked door, sloshing beer all over his hand and the floor. I gripped my towel tighter and felt a burning in my throat. "Where were you last night?"

"None of your business!" I shouted. I was so infuriated. Brock always told me to try and be patient with my father, to try and answer his questions without emotion and leave as soon as possible. He was worried for my safety. I wasn't. I knew I could handle the old man and speaking to him without conviction was nearly impossible. "And I'm leaving again so don't wait up."

"Your mother would've been so ashamed of what you're doing," he said, all traces of a slur gone. I followed his gaze to the bruise on the crook of my elbow. I swallowed back tears.

"You mean the same way she'd be _disgusted _with you?" I spat. His face steeled over and he took a step towards me. It was firm and planted; not the staggering, swaying step of a drunkard. Fear gripped my heart. I gripped the towel tighter.

"Don't you talk to me like that girl!" he shouted, raising his hand high above his head. I looked away, cowering as I heard him grunt with the exertion of bringing it down. I waited for the stinging slap on my cheek but it didn't happen. I carefully opened my eyes and looked at him. With all his might, he was trying to force his hand down on my face. I gasped and prodded the air around me. There was nothing there. Why had he stopped? I ducked out from under him and ran into my room. His arm slammed down on nothing. He roared and wheeled back around. I locked the deadbolt I'd put on my door for days like this and quickly threw some clothes on. It had to be nearing 2, which meant I had to go meet Brock. I grabbed a scrunchie and shoved my hair back into a ponytail. I shouldered my bag and down the fire escape I went.

Once out on the street again, I let the tears fall again. Again, I'd have to meet Brock looking like the shit I was. I wouldn't be able to come home for another week or so. And, I glanced at the clock in the pawn shop on the corner, I would never make it uptown in time. It hurt him enough that I did what I did, why did I have to hurt him more by being late. Yes, true, it wasn't for the reason he thought, but there wasn't going to be any convincing him. I bit my lip and stopped. I looked down at my dirty Converse sneakers and did the only thing I could think to do.

"Taxi!" I called, throwing my hand up in the air. Two stopped and I jumped into one of them, throwing my bag rather hard. I was nervous about what I was going to attempt. "Uh, 74th and 2nd please," I said, looking down at my lap instead of at the man in the rearview mirror. I thought of my mother and what she would think of me. She used to love cabs. She would take the three of us, squished together in the back of one, over to Broadway. We saw _The Lion King _once. She got all dolled up for nothing. It was a family show, not an opera. My father, when he was happy, had laughed at her but I had known he thought she looked beautiful. Because she did. Eyes all smoky and big. Her lips were plump and delicious. Her clothes were magnificent and beautiful. She was mesmerizing.

"Big date?" the cabbie asked, interrupting my thoughts. I glanced out the window. Construction sites and restaurants slowly passed by. I shook my head.

"Well, sort of. Why?" I asked. I grabbed my bag and attempted to find my brush in the jumble of clothes. I could at least try to look decent for Brock.

"You're all dolled up," the cabbie chuckled. "In the middle of the day too!" He shook his head disbelieving.

"Turn that rearview mirror! Now!" I shouted. I touched my face. What the hell was he talking about? I hadn't showered or combed my hair in two days! I wasn't in the least bit...I gasped. I was. I was like my mother when we went to Broadway. The perfect amount of make-up on my eyes and lips and cheeks. My hair was combed and neat and perfectly stacked on my head. Even my clothes were different. I was wearing a dress. I hadn't owned a dress since the one she bought me was too small. How was this possible? I started coking on air. What the hell was going on? What was happening to me? I didn't have a choice but to tell Brock? I had to.

"Hey, you okay?" the cabbie asked. He turned his blinker on, ready to pull over.

"Keep going, I'm fine. I have a meeting," I said. I waved him on. He obliged and we kept slowly crawling uptown. I grabbed a pen and notepad out of the front pockets in my bag. I scribbled down every incident I could think of that was inexplicable and weird. The vacant lot with Zach, the apartment with my dad, the cab, everything. Brock was never going to believe me, I realized. The cabbie pulled over to the curb. We were here. It was time.

"What the hell is that?" I shouted, pointing up ahead. His gaze turned that way, and I squinted at the meter. Slowly, but surely, the numbers began to tick backwards. They spun faster and faster as I returned them to zero. "Never mind, it's gone," I muttered. "How much do I owe you?" I asked. I dug around in my bag to act like I was searching for cash.

"Nothing because this damn thing is broken!" he shouted angrily. I fled the cab and slammed the door shut behind me. I slipped into the pizza place we normally ate at and sat as far away from the window as I could. I didn't want him to realize something was wrong. I couldn't stop hyperventilating. Then, I saw Brock's tanned face. He pulled off his helmet and heaved his speedy bike onto his shoulder.

"Hey babe!" he smiled. He dropped it against the emergency exit and came over and kissed me. I nuzzled my face into his shoulder for a minute. He smelled like the wind and skin. It was wonderful. I kissed his neck before pulling away. "Wow! Wow! You look...great!" he smiled, holding me at arm's length to take me in. He pulled out my chair and helped me sit before taking his own chair and ordering us two glasses of water. "So how was today? Did you get a bag packed?"

"Yea, I had to dodge around the asshole to get it, but I did."

"Why are you all dolled up?"

"I just thought I'd surprise you! I know I never get dressed up for you so I thought I should once in a while," I replied. I watched his reaction intently. I needed him to believe me. Because I wasn't ready to tell him. He would never believe me. He cracked another toothy smile.

"Well you look great, baby. Do you want the usual?" he asked. I nodded and strained a smile across my face. Maybe I'd have the guts to tell my baby the truth next time. Maybe next time I could convince him that I'd actually dressed up just for him and not on accident. I could tell him I took a cab instead of walking. I could tell him I'd gotten along with my father and left with his permission. Maybe next time.


End file.
